The Locket
by Lady Draculea
Summary: HPTR Shadows licked at the edge of his vision, while dreams haunted him in sleep. Oneshot.


I know that a lot of you are waiting for the next chapter of **Semper Letteris Mandate** and I'm _deeply_ sorry that I haven't given you guys one yet. School takes up a grand portion of my time and I have essays coming out of the wazoo. Good news is that I only have two more essays to write, a couple of weeks more of classes, then exams, _then _I have all the time in the world to write (as in a couple of months). I promise that as soon as I possibly can I will give SLM my full attention.

In the mean time, I bring you this. It is a oneshot that I started writing as I was halfway through **Deathly Hallows **last July. Frankly, I think this is how it should have gone, but that's me. I do have this posted at AFF and I have had it there for the past few months because of the content, but I owe you guys something for taking so long with SLM, so I thought I'd upload this here. I hope you enjoy it.

**Disclaimer:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

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**The Locket  
Lady Draculea**

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The chilled weight of the locket against Harry's skin left an ominous feeling in the back of his mind. Shadows danced along the edge of his vision, making him jump at the slightest movement. It was wearing on his nerves, and his eyes felt strained from the effort of catching the elusive shadows. He wasn't sure if it was the stress of everything catching up with him, or if the locket around his neck was affecting him more than he wanted to admit.

"Harry," Hermione said from her spot by the table, her eyes barely leaving the silent sneakoscope in front of her. "I thought I told you to go to sleep?"

Halfway through a shrug before realising that Hermione wasn't looking at him, Harry instead grunted unintelligibly. "Can't sleep."

Sighing, the bushy haired young woman leaned her head on her folded arm that rested on the table. "At least try and rest, please? There is no point for both of us to be tired. I'll wake you up in a few hours."

Resigned, Harry nodded. He knew that they all needed as much rest as they could get for the days to come. There was no need to be both hungry and tired. Besides, he could feel the exhaustion creeping up on him, lengthening the shadows, giving them more definite forms.

After changing from his jeans to a pair of loose pyjama bottoms and throwing off his shirt in the admittedly small bathroom, Harry turned on the tap to brush his teeth. He could see the shadows, feel them, they were leering at him. Choosing to ignore them, he believed them only to be a figment of his overly tired imagination. Decided, but still weary and more than a little unsure, he spit the paste into the sink and rinsed his mouth.

His eyes drooping as he returned his toothbrush to rest beside Hermione's (Ron didn't understand their habit of using plastic with bristles on the end or a foul tasting paste to clean their teeth), he splashed his face with water. Rising from over the sink, water dripping onto his chest, Harry caught his reflection in the mirror. The same dark circles coloured the skin under his eyes, the same bright green eyes regarding him tiredly, but that wasn't what made his heart skip a beat.

Behind him, nearly a head taller was Tom Riddle. An aged version of the man Harry met in the Chamber, and older still than the one he saw in the memories Dumbledore had showed him.

Tom Riddle smiled at Harry from the mirror, his hands resting on the smaller male's shoulder, then moving down while his lips moved closer to his ear. "Harry."

"Harry!"

Spinning, Harry gasped for breath. His heart was pounding a mile a minute. No one was there, Tom Ri—Voldemort, wasn't there.

Ron called again, "Harry, hurry up! I need to use the loo."

"Y… yeah," Harry said, ashamed that his voice wavered, "I'll be right out." Gathering his clothes, he glanced one last look at the mirror, only seeing himself, and exited the bathroom.

"Took long enough," Ron grumbled as he rushed by, one arm cradled to his chest while the other slammed the door behind him.

Suddenly too tired to respond, Harry dropped his clothes in a pile beside his bunk before falling into the bed. He was asleep even before his head hit the pillow.

**--TRHP--**

Cool hands traced random patterns on his back, tantalizing his skin while at the same time kept him from moving. His face was pressed into a pillow, cushioning his head, but doing little to muffle the gasps and moans that he could barely believe came from him. The hands skated over the small of his back, dancing over the swell of his rear and Harry couldn't help the shivers and pleasant need slithered through him.

Lingering at the delicate flesh at the back of Harry's thighs, the hands moved upwards, and Harry could sense the owner of the hands smile as he arched in protest as the hands left his skin. Craving more of the delicious contact, Harry mewed, his face heating as he realised how horribly wanton he must appear.

Chuckling, the figure above him lowered himself so he was lying flush against Harry, but resting his weight on his elbows, stretched on either side of Harry's neck. A strong chest laid flush against Harry's back and a pulsing arousal slide along the silken flesh of his thighs. A hand found its way down Harry's spine, the long tapered fingers dusting along every ridge and dip of his lover's back, memorizing his flesh. The hand moved lower teasingly, sliding along the crease separating Harry's cheeks, only caressing the puckered entrance before moving lower.

Harry's eyes shot open when the hand ghosted over his most intimate of places and he felt himself tremble. Gasping, Harry grasped the soft sheets beneath him as the hands rolled his globes between fingers before cupping Harry's weeping desire.

The hand twisted and pulled, pleased when Harry rose upon knees, arse pressed wantonly in the air. Arms attached to the hands pressed against Harry's side and a foreign arousal prodded hotly against the panting boy's thigh.

Hair brushed against Harry's neck while lips and teeth nipped along his jaw, moving to suckle his ear and then whisper, "You are mine."

Harry gasped at the intensity of the emotion infused in his lover's words. The words, while spoke in a whisper held possession, obsession, _need_ within them.

The overwhelming need to confirm his lover's claim bubbled in Harry's chest, but something held him back. A memory of red hair and brown eyes flashed and his lover hissed, hands tightening around hips.

Suddenly, Harry was on his back, arms on either side of his head trapped him and a deathly pale face framed with dark hair pressed close, red eye piercing his own. Tom Riddle slid his lips against Harry's, taking advantage of the boy's surprise and deepening the kiss to map and taste.

Breaking for air, Tom latched his mouth to Harry's neck, marking him while his hands were busy pressing against hips to still Harry's squirming. The smaller boy below him bucked, but his resistance failed when his cock brushed against Tom, sending sparks of pleasure through his thin frame and causing him to collapse against the bed bonelessly.

"You are mine, Harry." Teeth nipped and tongue soothed.

Harry clenched his eyes shut, willing his traitorous body to move, to fight. "No!"

Hands moved down his chest, pulling briefly at nipples before continuing on. Harry turned his head to the side, refusing to submit to his enemy. 'Think of Ginny. Think of Gin-!'

The hands that Harry had briefly been able to ignore slid along the globes of his arse, long fingers tickling his entrance before pressing forward, ripping a startled cry from Harry's lips. Efforts renewed, Harry squirmed in Riddle's grip, fear bubbling up his throat. "Stop!"

Leaning forward, Riddle brushed lips against Harry's ear, finger all the while still dancing within Harry, another soon joining. "Stop?" The fingers bent, nudging something and sent stars to spot Harry's vision. "Are you sure?"

"Y-yes," Harry stuttered as wicked fingers hit that spot in him again, his cock jumping and drooling with every caress. "Stop."

Lips smiled, "You don't sound so sure," the fingers left, "but if you insist…"

Suddenly Harry was cold, and when he opened his eyes, alone. Snores from the across the room sounded, startling Harry into fumbling for his wand. "Ron," Harry murmured to himself, his heart racing as green eyes flitted from one corner to the other, relaxing only when nothing, when _no one_, jumped out at him.

A hand clenched at the locket around his neck, the metal warm against his fingers and calming him. Slowly, Harry leaned back into his pillow, tired eyes open until slowly, sleep once again took over, forcing dreams and fingers to dance and an addiction to form.

**End**


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